


Poisons, I

by silverr



Category: Gankutsuou: The Count of Monte Cristo
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-26
Updated: 2010-08-26
Packaged: 2017-10-11 17:41:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverr/pseuds/silverr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Héloïse spends time in the greenhouse. Spoilers for episode 7 and 8.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poisons, I

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: _Gankutsuou: The Count of Monte Cristo_ is copyright Mahiro Maeda, GONZO / Media Factory, GDH, Geneon, and Funimation. No infringement or disrespect of owners of existing copyrights in _Gankutsuou_ or its derivative works is intended by this non-profit, noncommercial amateur fan fiction.

.

Héloïse de Villefort always visited the room with her Night Children first, pressing loving fingers to the dark, velvety soil, misting it lightly, caressing the pale fleshy stems. Like any mother, she could close her eyes and picture each of her children in detail, cooing their names – _Amanitaceae, Boletus, Chlorophyllum, Clitocybe, Conocybe, Entoloma, Galerina, Helvella, Lactarius, Lepiota, Omphalotus, Paxillus, Phalliodin, Ramaria, Rusula, Sarcosphaera, Tricholoma –_ though she knew their pet names, too: deadly dapperling, deadly parasol, deathcap, destroying angel, false morel, skullcap, webcap. She loved them almost as much as she loved her son Edouard – more, at times, for unlike her son they were obedient, silently waiting to do anything she might ask of them – and far more than she loved her stepdaughter Valentine, who while pale, and silent, and obedient, was not so easily harvested.

But her children had taught Héloïse patience. The most valuable crop yielded nothing if cut down at the wrong season.

Her second stop was to her brighter multitudes, those beauties she thought of fondly as her suitors: Angel's trumpet, autumn crocus, caladium, black locust, daphne, datura, delphinium, desert rose, doll's eyes, foxglove, hyacinth, jequirity, hemlock, moonseed, mountain laurel, oleander, privet, snakeroot, yellow jessamine … all waving to her, each vying to impress her with their gifts of berry and flower, with swollen smooth-skinned fruits and moist roots, with stems oozing milky sap. Each to be treasured.

She was restless today, eager to finish with them, but nevertheless she forced herself to be thorough, lightly tormenting herself by inspecting each plant in each bed for mites, for mildew, for mold or rot, pressing her thighs together as she knelt to ruthlessly snip every yellowed leaf and browned bud.

Satisfied, she strolled to her workbench in the center of the greenhouse, her basket heavy with small green fruit. From a hidden drawer she took a cutting board, knives, gloves, a stainless steel pestle, and a crucible-like mortar. Then she peeled and scored each fruit, pulling the halves apart to reveal the white seed in each, half-hidden by a hood of pulp. She pinched it between forefinger and thumb, pulling the seed free and placing it in the crucible, smiling as each seed turned lilac.

As the seeds continued to deepen in color, from periwinkle to purple to black, she washed her gloves, her board, and knife, admiring as did so the points of light gleaming from the row of white ceramic jars on the top shelf of her workbench, stout soldiers named Phosphine, Chromic Acid, Mercury, Potassium Chloride, and Thallium.

She bit her lip. Surely she deserved a treat, now that her work was done?

The key, warm and scented from its hiding place in her bosom, opened the locked cabinet below the soldiers, the cabinet that held the bijoux lavished on her by her lovers, by Monkshood, Nightshade, Passiflora, and Othalanga. She touched each tiny jewel-like bottle in turn, whispering, "Atropine, brucine, cerberin, cyanide, ricin, scopolamine, strychnine." The syllables were heavy on her tongue, almost tactile, and today, as she did so often, she lifted her favorite, pressing a kiss to the faceted glass, sliding the diamond-shaped stopper between her lips, flicking her tongue across the sealing wax, all the while imagining the dismay and horror she would feign someday soon when Valentine's heart would beat a final wild dance and then be still, trampled beneath the slim white feet of the Goddess of Death.

.

.

_~ The end ~_

.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kink Bingo round 3, card 1, kink 4,4: drugs/aphrodisiac
> 
> AN: Nope, although I do not wear a codpiece I am not above shameless padding. The fruit is from a _Cerbera odollam_.
> 
> (01) 26 August 2010


End file.
